


diametric.

by foundCarcosa



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenders, in snippets of telling dialogue and stolen moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	diametric.

_"If you weren’t so headstrong,"_ Irving had said with a twinkle in his eye, _"you would make a wonderful teacher here."_

But it’d been a long time since Anders had used his encouraging crinkle-eyed smile and the softer side of his voice to coax the will to learn from a frightened apprentice’s mind. It’d been a long time since someone trusted him enough to let him help them.

Even his patients were businesslike and shrewd-eyed, asking pointed questions about what he was doing every time he moved, sniffing suspiciously at the salves and poultices he gave them.

He’d seen that same scowling suspicion in Fenris. And so, weary and ragged, he hadn’t even tried.

Fenris watched him with eyes that never seemed to blink. Catalogued his every move and filed away his every word. And when Justice made his jagged blue appearance, Fenris’ eyebrows quirked upward, and without meaning to, he glanced down at his tattooed arm.

They argued because they were too alike to admit they were anything other than diametric opposites.  
But slowly, the suspicion faded out of Fenris’ glance, because it had no business there. If he could follow the spell-flinging Hawke without argument, then surely the healer deserved more than his derision.

—

 _"You are so strong,"_ Danarius had gloated, hand in his Fenris’ hair, _"so strong, because that is what I have made you."_

When you mention you were once a slave, there’s a look people get in their eyes, a sort of guilt-prompted pity. Everyone is suddenly obsessed with wanting to prove themselves _different_ from your former master. Everyone makes a show of asking your permission, of including you, of being _sensitive._

Everyone treats you like a broken thing, and it doesn’t matter how much of a tit you are, because everyone excuses it. _He’s still in pain,_ they tell themselves, _he doesn’t mean it,_ and they pat themselves on the back for being so patient and understanding.

Fenris saw that same flare of awareness in Anders’ eyes when he first spoke the words ‘former master’, and Fenris felt fury flare in his hollow chest.

But Anders didn’t apologise for being a mage. He didn’t quell his magic for Fenris’ sake, or stop his impassioned ranting when the warrior entered the room. He offered to heal Fenris no matter how many times Fenris declined the offer, but instead of giving that soft-spoken, “okay, I understand,” he’d shrug and mutter, “your loss”.

Anders knew he wasn’t Danarius. But that didn’t quell the fear that one day Fenris would triumphantly hold his still-beating heart in his glowing hand, and not in some sappy metaphorical sense, either.

—

 _"I envy you,"_ their glares said.

 _"We could be good for each other,"_ their glares said.

 _"I am in hell,"_ their glares said.

_"Help me."_

—

"Hawke would make an excellent magister," Fenris grouses, grinding his teeth.

"Well, what about me?" Anders retorts, his shoulders tightening.

"They’d laugh you out of court," is Fenris’ haughty response, and Anders frowns, feeling like he should be offended.

Somehow, though, this is relieving.

—

"What is that?"  
Anders looks up from the page, his eyes following Fenris’ hooded gaze to the stack of dog-eared leaves beside him.

"A manifesto," the mage answers guardedly, wondering if he should flip the top page over, cover his words, hide his fervour from such clinical eyes.

But Fenris’ fingers touch the paper gingerly, tracing the shape of an exaggerated capital letter. He murmurs, almost as if he'd forgotten Anders was in earshot. “This is an A.”

A muscle twitches in Anders’ neck as he swallows, chancing a glance up into the elf’s sharp features. He sees incomprehension there, frustrated incomprehension. He traces the A again.

"You can’t read," Anders blurts out, stunned, and Fenris sucks his teeth and starts to turn his back, walk away, before his shame makes him rude.

"I’ll teach you. Wait. Let me—"

"No." Fenris cuts him off, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Look, you’re already on your way. A is the first letter of—"

Anders had started to say ‘the alphabet’, but Fenris finishes with, “your name, yes, I _know”_ , and the mage is too disarmed to do anything but nod.

—

"So what’s up with you and our favourite mage?" Varric asks, then amends his statement, "not Hawke, the other one."

"He disgusts me," Fenris responds automatically, not meeting the dwarf’s eyes.

Varric chuckles, and deals out a hand.

—

"If I was… you know. Not a mage. Would you love me then?"

"Shut up."

"Seriously, Fenris. Is it like the forbidden-fruit thing? Because if it is, I understand, but—"

"You think I am using you?"

"I know you don’t need me."

"And once again, you prove yourself knowing nothing."

—

"I’m confused," Hawke says, eyeing Fenris out of the corner of his eye. He has a stick of charcoal gripped in one hand, his jaw working as he forms the letters.  
"He won’t say who’s teaching him. But I know it’s Anders.  
Except… I thought they hated each other.”

Varric smiles slightly. “According to them, they do.”

"That doesn’t make any _sense,_ Varric.”

"Oh, I know. Another round?"

—

When Fenris argues with him, Anders argues back instead of treating him like blown glass, and only Fenris knows what this means.

When Anders heals him, Fenris lets his eyes flutter closed, and only Anders knows what this means.


End file.
